


Compromise

by appleschnapple



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-19 00:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appleschnapple/pseuds/appleschnapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-game; Hawke gives Anders to the templars to be made tranquil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compromise

“Hawke, _no_.” The words came out cracked and hollow sounding, every line on Anders' face etched with grief and fear. “Kill me, do whatever you want to me, just don't let them – don't let them do this to me!”

Hawke lowered his head, unable to look at him. He knew; knew with the part of his head still capable of logic and rational thought and ignoring the rest of him screaming in protest, that this was the best course of action. There could be no peace, no appeasement to the people of Kirkwall while Anders still lived – and he was far, far too selfish to let that happen. Hawke could hear the murmurings of his companions behind him, but couldn't bring himself to make out the words. He didn't _care_ what they thought. Everyone else was meaningless now. There was just him and Anders, and he couldn't block out the sounds of Anders' futile struggle to break free from the templars' grasp, the sickening crack as they knocked him out with a blow to the head. He heard Isabela's faint intake of breath, Merrill's quiet sobbing, and closed his eyes. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he'd wake up to find that this hadn't happened, his mother's death hadn't happened, his sister's, his brother's... He'd wake to find them safe and happy, in a home that hadn't been lost to the Blight. He swallowed, forcing down the lump in his throat and ignoring his stinging eyes.

“Come on,” he said, his voice distant and unrecognisable even to his own ears. “This isn't over yet.”

\--- 

“Your excellency, the Prince of Starkhaven has arrived. He wishes to speak with you. He says the matter is urgent.”

Hawke sighed, and laid down the quill he'd been writing with. “That does sound suitably dramatic for Sebastian. Send him in, please.”

“Of course, excellency.” The seneschal bowed his head as he left. Hawke hadn't actually spoken with the Prince face to face since Sebastian's departure two years ago, and it was only with the aid of those far more diplomatic than himself that war had not broken out between the two city states. The formal requests from Starkhaven had been unchanging, but Hawke had been resolute in his refusal – much to the horror of Kirkwall's diplomats, he suspected.

He looked up sharply as the door opened, survival skills still well-honed – and considering the fate of Kirkwall's last viscount, it was not exactly unfounded paranoia.

“Your highness,” Hawke said, all cold politeness, gesturing towards the lone chair set opposite his desk. Sebastian nodded and took it, and Hawke took the opportunity to look over his former companion. Sebastian certainly seemed older – sharper around the edges, too, and Hawke suspected that Sebastian was seeing the same in his own face, the flecks of grey by his temples.

“I believe I owe you an apology,” Sebastian began, and Hawke felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. He had not been expecting that when the visit had been announced. “I let my anger cloud my judgement. I thought there could only be justice in Anders' death.”

“It's taken you quite a while to reach this conclusion, hasn't it?” Hawke said sharply. “Considering the threats of war we've had for the past _two years_ if we didn't hand Anders over to you.” He shot Sebastian a dark grin, letting just a glimpse of his former self shine through. “Of course, I suppose I should be glad you've managed to make your mind up about _anything_ without my help.”

To his slight disappointment, Sebastian did not rise to the bait. “Many rulers would have handed over one man for the sake of their city's safety.”

“Many rulers would not be so driven by their desire for vengeance to threaten an entire city for the sake of one man,” Hawke retorted. Sebastian simply raised his hands placatingly, giving Hawke a small smile that made him want to punch the man in the face.

“True enough. It has taken me long enough to realise this. What has been done to him,” and, Hawke noted, Sebastian couldn't quite keep the note of disgust out of his voice, “was the most appropriate form of retribution. Killing him would have just made him a martyr for his cause.”

“The world has descended into chaos,” Hawke said flatly. “I think no matter what I did to Anders, it would make little difference now.”

“The Maker will guide both our paths, Hawke.”

Hawke stared at him, trying to find any trace of irony or doubt in Sebastian's words, but he seemed genuine enough. “You truly believe that, don't you?”

“Yes, Hawke.” Sebastian got to his feet. “I truly do.”

\--- 

The Gallows was mostly empty now, more of a templar stronghold than anything else, and even that was being generous. Of the mages, only the tranquil remained, continuing to serve in any way they could – either unaware or uncaring of the destruction that had occurred there. Hawke had always been unnerved by the tranquil, hated the way their eyes bore into him with nothing behind them, the flat monotone that left him feeling distinctly unclean. Before... before everything, he'd gone out of his way to avoid them wherever possible, which had been easy enough for the most part. Now, though, he felt honour bound to watch them, to protect them as well as he could.

He turned suddenly at the all too familiar sound of metal (a gauntlet, a boot, it seldom mattered) crashing against someone and all but ran towards the source of the noise. The templars were becoming increasingly willing to turn their ire at a fruitless task towards the tranquil, the mages that wouldn't fight back or resist, and while Hawke had no technical power over them he still held more than enough authority (and had enough of an _understanding_ with Knight-Commander Cullen) to get those caught abusing their power thrown from the order.

Two templars were standing over the man, and Hawke caught a familiar glimpse of blonde hair covering his face. _Of course_. Anders was an easy target – a representation of everything that had gone wrong – and this wasn't the first time this had happened, and nor would it be the last.

“Get away from him.” He didn't yell, didn't even raise his voice, just let his words be tinged by cool fury. He'd instinctively pulled out his daggers, but had no intention of using them unless forced. He fiercely hoped they would force him. Regretfully, however, they just turned to face him, horror clear in their faces.

“Excellency, I--”

“ _Go_.” They did so, trying to simultaneously walk and run away from him, the end product one that would have been amusing under any other circumstances. Hawke sighed, and helped Anders to his feet. “I keep telling you to run from them.”

“They told me not to,” Anders said simply, and Hawke couldn't help but flinch because _no_ , this wasn't Anders, this was just an empty shell. He'd lost Anders long ago.

“From now on, my order supersedes theirs, all right?”

Anders paused, then nodded. “Your position does afford you that right.” Hawke tried to smile, thought about making a quip about _positions_ , tried to remember what he'd been like before he'd destroyed the last good thing in his life. He couldn't.

“Look at me,” he told Anders, voice cracking painfully. “Please.”

Anders did so obediently – and of course he did, _of course_. Brown eyes looked into his, but at was if the lights behind them had dimmed and these were just eyes, just parts of the body like any other that could be broken and ruined. Hawke realised that he'd even prefer to see that flash of blue over this – at least Anders had agreed to letting Justice in.

Justice. He'd hated that thing from the start, hated it more and more as it had ripped more and more of Anders away. He remembered Anders' fear, of the blanks in his memory and the control he seemed to lose with each passing day. He'd wondered – hoped, perhaps – that Justice would somehow change the Rite of Tranquility, that maybe something of Anders would remain. It seemed even fade spirits couldn't cure a beheading. The only difference, it seemed, was that Anders had no memory of what had been done, no memory of _anything_ since he'd first let Justice in. Hawke had forced himself to speak to him, to finally learn more about Anders' past from this abomination wearing his skin. He'd listened to tales of Anders' childhood and friends and his time at the Circle, all in the same, dispassionate tone, and his heart broke for the man he knew and the man he'd never gotten a chance to.

Anders was still looking at him, would keep looking until he was ordered to look away, and Hawke couldn't help the sob that broke out of him. “I'm sorry,” he forced out, and then threw his arms around him. There was no response, and this just made his grip tighter, made him burrow his face against Anders' shoulder. “I did this to you. I...” he faltered, his body too racked by sobs to continue. Finally, he drew back, eyes red and swollen, and shuddered as he tried to get his next words out. “I thought I was doing you a kindness. Now I think that it's the cruellest thing I could have done to you.”

“Before, I think I may have considered tranquillity a fate worse than death,” Anders said. “Now I see it means I have far more to offer.”

Hawke laughed, a harsh, broken sound with not a trace of humour in it. He reached over and stroked Anders' cheek, fighting back bile as Anders' face remained completely impassive. “One day, I'll end this for you, I promise. One day I'll be strong enough.”

He didn't kiss him. The man Hawke had loved had died – and it would do him a disservice to pretend otherwise.


End file.
